16 Excuses
by Oblivion's Demon
Summary: He has a lot of excuses, but he'll eat his hat if anyone believes them. They certainly don't forgive him.


Hey guys, here's number 16 in my hundred themes challenge. I don't know if anyone's excited, but Opposite of Love is coming back soon. Also, I would SO SO SO appreciate it if anybody with a figment account would heart my story Trail of Tears. You can find me under Oblivion's Demon, as always, or look at a link on my profile. I'm part of a contest, and I really wanna win. Any help would be appreciated.

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He has plenty of excuses, and, of course, each one means something different.

When he first meets his gennin team, he's over two hours late. And he remembers that excuse with clarity: "A black cat crossed my path, so I had to find a different way." Let them think he's silly and superstitious; it's true. That black cat he called memory reared its ugly head and hissed at him. That hiss sounded quite a bit like screams of pain and hastily made apologies, like begging for forgiveness with the last breaths of a person's life. It made a sound like a tanto sliding against the ribs in his father's chest.

Black fur. Obito had black hair, and he was always in his way. That Uchiha loved to mess with him, to be the barrier that kept him from becoming the cold robot he was so close to being. That laughter that haunted him and the eye that saved his life so many times. Black fur which reminded him of a final wish that had saved his worthless self; that had prevented him from joining his best friend after so many years. A gift which had allowed him to complete his first original technique; the technique that was later taught to Obito's cousin, or perhaps his nephew. A technique that would be used to burn down everything he cared about.

Flashing fangs. Obito was like that, too; he was as weak as a kitten who thought it was a tiger. He would never hurt a fly, unlike cold ANBU Kakashi. Cold assassination Kakashi who made his first kill when he was five. Obito killed a man when he was twelve, sinking his playful fangs in just an inch too far, batting his frisky paws just a bit too hard. On that day, Obito had thrown up. He'd cried and cursed, and Kakashi had not done a thing. Instead he had watched, and been disgusted. Since then, Kakashi has not cried for a single man he's killed.

Darting speed. Obito always ran everywhere; he was perpetually late. Kakashi had mocked him for it, scorning him and his lack of punctuality. The one time Obito had not been late was the last. He had thrown Kakashi away from the crushing boulder. Perhaps that was the beginning of Obito's punctuality streak; he would never know. Once, Kakashi had damned tardiness as the failing trait of a ninja; since then he has not been on time a day in his life.

That morning Kakashi spent in bed, trembling and shaking, unable to get up.

The next time he is late, he tells his team, "I saw a pretty girl, and naturally she wanted to go dancing with me." Of course they don't believe him. Let them think he's frivoulous and arrogant; it's true. That pretty girl would have been a beauty by now, with laughing eyes and an innocent smile. And she always did love dancing, especially with him and sensei. Obito would go bright in the face whenever she suggested it, but of course he would come along.

Rin was always dancing; even her fighting style could be called dancing. Every movement, every attack, was graceful. Her enemies would pause and watch the beautiful girl dance with death in the middle of a blood soaked ball. Wearing a gown of gore and dirt, she would waltz through the blood paved grass to the music of screaming pain and agony. No other kunoichi could compare to her elegance and grace on the battlefield.

But there was something missing; no dance could be complete without a partner. And hers was no exception. Without a faithful Inuzuka hound by her side, Rin was only half complete, half the dancer she should have been. Without her other half, her dancing was as forlorn as a small child's, silly and more than a little heart wrenching. Without her hound, Rin wasn't a dancer; she was a laughingstock.

The only Inuzuka to ever be spurned by dogs, and no one was sure why she was. Everyone else, from civilians to enemy shinobi, loved to be around her. She was sweet; and she was charming; and, most of all, she was innocent. In a world of cold murderers, brutal assassins, and sadistic torturers, she was the shining gem of humanity. No matter how much blood dripped from her fingers, she could still give the world a pure smile.

She killed her first man when she was fourteen, a year after Obito died; when he went to comfort her, she smiled up at him. She smiled. Just smiled, like it was the most natural thing in the world (and maybe it was; children are bizarre enough). The body not yet cooled on the ground, and still Rin's eyes were as clear as the day she was born. Not that he was there, though he wishes he was. Everything was torn from him too early.

But still, for all her lovely traits, no one is perfect (Oh, how he knows, _he knows_). And neither was she; she was hated by the very thing that was sworn to her. She was not perfect, and he loved her for it. The others of her clan, though, could not love her for it. She was spurned and hated, and never found it in her heart to hate back. All the while, as she smiled (she _smiled_ at those bastards, and he now wants to rip them apart) at the backs that faced her, he watched.

Just watched, like it was the most natural thing in the world. (And maybe it was; the world seems cold enough.) The world was cruel to those who did nothing to defend themselves; he discovered that at a very early age. The world was a giant river, a current no one could fight against and win. The only way to survive, even if for a little while, is to push back until your limbs wear out. The current took them all eventually, and he was the only one still pushing. (God how he wanted it to take him.)

That day, he went to all Rin's favorite places, touching the things she loved.

Now it has become routine, his team expects him to be late. When he told them "I got lost on the path of life," they no longer questioned him. They simply called him a liar, and went on with their mission. And in truth, maybe it was a lie. Maybe he hadn't gotten lost; maybe he knew exactly where he was going. The part that should have worried them the most is that they were right. He knew exactly where he was going, and, truth be told, he ran there as fast as he could.

He was running through the ANBU life, the life that had encompassed him since the death of nearly everything that mattered. The chances of coming out of ANBU alive were slim, they told him and told him and _told _him (he wished they would stop, he was not called a genius for nothing). Chances of coming out of ANBU completely intact where even slimmer, he knew this, too. Chances of coming out of ANBU the same as when you came in, well, this one was really just a joke they told themselves. Anyone who went into ANBU was either completely devoted or had nothing to lose.

The jury was still out on why Kakashi joined.

Still, Kakashi wasn't a genius for nothing. He has his head, his lungs, all four of his limbs, all ten phalanges. In ANBU, he was considered a legend, short only of Uchiha Itachi. And, only_ just_ short. (Is that something to be proud of?) Still, Kakashi was not the same. He was a wired killing machine. Slaughter and run was more natural to him than visiting Obito's grave, easier than smiling at strangers, and more routine than brushing his hair.

He pretends not to hear the whispers that follow him like shadows. He pretends they are not calling him crazy, a deranged killer addicted to death. Maybe he is; maybe he wants to be. If he is, they will put him out of his misery. The one thing he will not become, however, is his father. He will not be a coward. He will not be a disgrace. He will not be human. He will be ANBU.

And he would have, he would have lived ANBU and died ANBU if not for the bright flash of sunlight that had flashed through the stormy clouds like a sign from above. His sunlight and his inspiration, Namikaze Minato. Namikaze Minato, who found him, not matter how well the darkness and blood disguised his form. Who forced him to come back _alive_, dammit, no matter what.

Namikaze Minato, whom he devoted his life to. The kindest Hokage, the only one who had lost the exact same thing as him. The youngest Hokage, the only one who remembered, or cared to remember, brief snatches of laughter and faint flashes of sunlight that he clung to as the rest of the world slipped away. The fastest Hokage, who understood the smell of loss and loneliness and hatred better than so many.

His sensei, who clung to the same flashes of sunlight and snatches of laughter as he did. The man who embodied everything he had lost, and refused to let Kakashi add himself to the list. The man who held him from the time he was five to the time he was fourteen. Who taught him the best place to plunge a dagger into a man, the quietest way to strangle a child.

The same man who taught him how to treasure all that was beautiful. To smile until his jaw hurt and laugh until he couldn't breathe. Who taught him how to love and cherish and nurture and prize the things that bled color into his bland tumult of pain. The man who taught him how to be human again.

The man who had yanked him out of ANBU when he was fourteen, and whose will barred him from entering for the next year. The second he had been allowed back in, of course he had leapt at the chance. Maybe he was exaggerating a bit; Hatake Kakashi (how very apt that name was, it suited him) never leapt outside of battle. He was just going through the motions, just trying to forget himself for a minute.

And there, in that one minute after the kill, he forgot his own pain. He engrossed himself in the horrible self-hatred that came with taking another human (was that really the word for him anymore?) life. In that one moment, he became the bloody murder he attempted to lose himself to. In that moment, he turned his head and waited for the disgust his teammates would pile on him. He killed so they would hate him, hate him and remember him. He would have relished it.

After minutesmonthsdays_years _(he doesn't know anymore, days and numbers have ceased to mean anything to him. The only way he tells time is the number of deaths) the same will is resurfaced. It takes him out of ANBU at the age of twenty four. He doesn't remember turning twenty-four. He is perpetually fourteen in his mind, the blind, lost little boy who only wants to bathe his pain in blood.

The same will reminds him to love, to cherish and nurture and be human. So no, Hatake Kakashi does not leave ANBU the same as he was; he comes out so, so much better. He comes out human.

He spent that day staring furiously at his kunai, trying to find any last traces of blood and shreds of hatred.

Of course he has so many more excuses, and of course each one means something different. After a time, he forgets whether he is trying to convince himself or the others. Maybe both, though he knows neither believe him. And, this he knows for a fact, they do not forgive him.

He has not forgiven himself.


End file.
